Accosted by a drunken German ex-merchant seaman

Friday 9th September 1983. George’s birthday.

We had a good breakfast of bread rolls and liver sausage with mint tea before checking out of the Youth Hostel. The warden was on the ball and noticed that it was George’s birthday by the birth date on his YHA membership card. He shook George’s hand after struggling to make himself understood. It is a pity he didn’t speak English as he seemed like a good bloke.

We set off towards Karlsruhe and eventually got on the right road after going off course a few times and getting pissed off. The sky is overcast and we have had a few spots of rain. We hit Karlsruhe just in time as the heavens opened and fled into Das Krokodil café for a coffee. We both sank into a melancholy mood and spoke of philosophy. Bob Dylan and Cat Stevens dirges in the background seemed to reflect our mood. Today in 2020 I have fond memories of hearing “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens for the first time in Das Krokodil on a rainy Friday and being really moved and inspired by it.

We walked into the town centre as the rain had stopped and found that it was much nicer and more colourful than it first appeared on our arrival. We then left town on the autobahn to Stutgard, dicing with death as juggernauts come so close to us that you could barely fill the gap between us with a fag paper. It was a long and tiring run and we were drained by our battle with massive lorries and steep gradients when we pulled off into Kirchheim. We tottered into a film-set of a town for a long rest. It was 3 o’clock and we had covered 135 miles already. The town was so text-book that it looked as if it had been ideally created to demonstrate a “typical German town”.

We hit the supermarket for another tin of stew for the evening and sat outside on a park bench, looking and feeling like a couple of tramps. German youths idled in the square behind us as we philosophised again. What was the meaning of life?

The weather improved and as we perked up we decided to continue to Ulm, a further 40 miles. The bikes responded admirably again as we weaved through traffic jams and a steep viaduct. We gained Ulm at about 18:20 hrs. and found the Youth Hostel, which was well sign-posted for once. There was a “No Members” kitchen so again we had the delight of eating cold stew from the tin. George struggled to hold this down on top of the sauer milk that he picked up by accident in Kirchheim supermarket. We were hooted a couple of times today by other G.B. vehicles, which are fairly rare.

The Youth Hostel at Ulm is like a museum in the foyer and it is massive and efficient, as were all the European hostels we’ve encountered. We have been winning disapproving and incredulous stares from the many touring mega-bikes that have passed us (all of them European), especially at the motorway stop where we refilled with petrol this afternoon. At the hostel we settled down to write some more postcards to friends and relatives at home. After ascertaining that all the hostel drink vending machines were out of order (a costly business for George!) we walked into town in search of a coffee.

We went into a nice bar on the outskirts of Ulm and were enjoying a coffee when we were accosted by a drunken German ex-merchant seaman. He went to the bar to pick up his beer so he could join us on a more permanent basis when we left him in the lurch and headed for the door. We decided to give the town centre a miss and returned to the hostel for some shut-eye at 21:30 hrs.

Bike milometer reads 14,343